


Appetite

by YaminoTenshi202



Category: Yu-Gi-Oh!
Genre: Eye Contact, M/M, Unresolved Romantic Tension, Unresolved Sexual Tension, War
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-03-10
Updated: 2014-12-04
Packaged: 2018-01-15 07:10:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,389
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1296046
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/YaminoTenshi202/pseuds/YaminoTenshi202
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There was only so much time for them to have in the tent together.</p><p>Timaeus looked to his eye and back up to Critias. There was an emotion that the younger knight could not read, one that twisted his heart.</p><p>“Very well.”</p><p>With that, Timaeus grabbed his articles and left the tent, leaving Critias to wonder if he had made the right decision.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Wild Horse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The lover of intellect and knowledge ought to explore causes of intelligent nature first of all, and, secondly, of those things which, being moved by others, are compelled to move others.
> 
> \- Timaeus: "Timaeus" by Plato

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Timaeus: http://classics.mit.edu/Plato/timaeus.html

“Here we are, teacher.”

Timaeus sat on the mattress that lay in Critias’ chamber. The tent was simple enough, but the mattress was a luxury that his student was certainly allowed. Two mattresses, and Timaeus would make sure his students-

 _His friends_ would have their luxuries, on his word he swore. Never had they seen a battle of this gravity, and he would make sure that they would have minimal scarring of it.

That could not be said of him, he thought, as he gently coaxed his false eye from its socket on the right side of his face, holding it out as an offering to his older student. Territorial, their kind was, and an offering was necessary if they wished to proceed.

He was trying not to cry, shaking as Critias rolled the glass orb between his fingers. The younger knight was letting the pads of his fingers grace the smooth surface of Timaeus’ glass eye, watching the older knight.

Critias didn’t expect Timaeus’ reaction to his request; he definitely did not expect this shaking man in front of him.

“Are you sure, teacher?”

“Yes.”

The thought had enticed him since he had seen Timaeus place the false eye into his socket the day after the first battle. To land a blow on Timaeus was unheard of, something that bothered Critias. It made something stir inside of him, made him want to see how much Timaeus could fall apart.

“All right, then.” Critias spread his legs, his hand undoing the fastenings of his trousers. His cock was straining against his underclothes, the friction from the fabric urging him to move more slowly. He sighed as the cold air hit him, eyes meeting Timaeus’ gaze. He placed the false eye in its holder on the table beside him.

“Stay on the bed, please.” He received a nod. Timaeus’ single eye held his gaze steadfastly. When the older knight blinked, Critias finally looked downward to the other’s crotch.

“You… do respond well to my proposal, my teacher-”

“Nothing of teachers now, Critias.” Timaeus smiled at him. Critias saw his right eyelids almost sunken, no longer having the glass eye to support them. “All my life has been education. However, I believe you are my teacher in this aspect.”

Critias felt his cheeks grow warm. He turned his face downward.

“Who told you?”

“Hermos.” Timaeus let out a laugh, more of an exhale through his nose, to let Critias know he didn’t take offense. “It’s all right. You two are both young and virile. Just tell me instead of sneaking from training.”

“Yes… Timaeus.” He heard movement on the bed and saw Timaeus stripping off his shirt. The skin was littered with bruises, skin thankfully unbroken. The bare chest of his teacher, his superior, made his skin rise with gooseflesh and had his breath turn a bit ragged.

“Critias?” He lifted his head to gaze at Timaeus’ single eye. It held many questions, ones that Critias had recognized in Hermos’ eyes when they had begun their trysts.

“Have you really never been with anyone else, my friend?”

Timaeus shook his head.

“I’ve only ever held the Charioteer knowledge that our teacher taught us… and then you grew into a man.” He smiled and gestured down to himself, bare chest and erection held back by his trousers and underthings. “I’m afraid that as you’ve gotten older, Critias, I’ve become the Wild Horse.”

Critias felt saliva building in his mouth, prompting him to swallow.

“I’m sorry if I-”

“Don’t.” Critias’ voice was cutting, deliberate. “... You make me the Wild Horse as well, Timaeus.”

One blue eye looked at him with a hopeful sort of longing and Critias understood why the other man had been shaking so furiously earlier.

Would the Wild Horse be put down?

Critias stepped forward and stood in front of his friend, placing his hands on the naked shoulders, feeling gooseflesh rise beneath his hands. Timaeus’ breathing pattern didn’t change, but from how his posture grew stiff, he knew that it was a conscious act. He raised one of his hands from the pale shoulders and leant over to the pillow of his bed, hand going underneath it.

“It will make it easier,” he explained, holding up a container of slick. Timaeus reached up to take it, intrigued. Critias knew what Timaeus didn’t and Critias knew that his friend would be intrigued. As soldiers, they had only been taught of the mechanics of copulation, the function, and result of it. It was when the Oracle of Philotes explained to the newer students, after Timaeus, of the pleasures that came along with it that it was seen as good outside of its function, its purpose.

“It is smooth,” Timaeus noted, some of the slick on his fingers. He looked up to Critias, his hand going close to the other’s cock. With a nod from Critias, Timaeus let his fingers dance over the younger warrior’s erection, keeping his eye on his student’s face.

Critias shivered, his cock throbbing with pleasure. His heart was racing in his chest, picking up speed. He hadn’t thought himself so close to orgasm until the shy fingers spread the slick over him. His breath ran ragged, though quiet, as the fingers ran from the tip to the base, wrapping around him as they slid back upward.

“Wait, just-” He hissed as the fingers squeezed a bit too tightly. It drove him closer to the edge of pleasure, his blood pounding in his ears. He heard the whisper of Timaeus apologising to him, his own voice shushing him and telling him it was not his fault.

It was a few moments, filled with only soft gasps from Critias and murmurs of question from Timaeus, until the older knight continued. Gentle movements of Timaeus’ claws made their way over the sensitive flesh, playing with the small, tightened flesh at his head.

“It’s interesting,” Timaeus noted, claw catching on his student’s foreskin, the flesh pulled back completely to show the moistening glans. “Why do they leave your skin?”

“Don’t know-” Critias let out a gasp, feeling more disheveled as time moved on. “Keep spreading… Timaeus.”

The smaller knight obliged him by pulling back his claws and moving downward, holding his cock in a secure grasp. The tightness moved back up and Critias sighed, pleased with a security of the hold on him now.

He pressed his hips forward, trying to coax Timaeus to move a few more times, his hips wanting to roll forwards into the warmth radiating from the hand around him.

“Critias,” shook him from arousal and sent a rich, thick wave of euphoria through him. It wasn’t enough for an orgasm, but Critias felt as though he would fall soon and attempt to push Timaeus to the mattress, bite the other’s neck, mount him-

“Wait,” Critias whispered, his voice softer than how Timaeus had ever heard it. The younger knight reached down and pulled his friend’s hand away, hissing as the cool air returned to his erection.

_Focus on something else!_

“Are you alright?” Timaeus looked up at his friend with a concerned eye. His fingers were relaxed, submissive, in Critias’ hand.

“Yes. Just, wait a moment.” Air was heavy in his lungs, shaking his breaths as they entered his lungs. He tightened his hold on Timaeus’ hand. “Do you think you are ready?”

Timaeus blinked up at him, his eye gazing down to their intertwined hands. He nodded slowly, shivered slightly.

Critias nodded down at him, giving him a gentle smile. He raised his other hand to rest on the back of Timaeus’ head. Letting go of Timaeus’ hand, he pressed his fingers to the other knight’s cheek, raising them up to the lax eyelid.

Timaeus seemed to shake beneath his touch as Critias lifted his eyelid, exposing the dark pink muscles of his eye socket. Keeping his gaze locked with Timaeus’, he slipped one finger inside, feeling the moist interior.

“Critias.”

Timaeus’ other eyelid was falling, the knight losing focus.

“How does that feel, Timaeus?” Critias dared to press further in, keeping his thumb on the raised eyelid, its only support. His index finger continued to venture further inside, mapping out every surface. Imagining its texture, Critias listed all of the muscles that lay therein, keeping its touch featherlight.

A groan, a soft dragon’s roar, managed to escape Timaeus and Critias smiled as his teacher’s cheeks grew red.

“Please, Critias.”

The younger knight pulled his finger out and lowered the eyelid.

“Not yet, Teacher.”

He pulled both hands away and hurriedly tucked himself back into his trousers and drawers. He turned to Timaeus, whose mouth had fallen open in shock.

“Explain, Critias.”

“When this is all over, I will have you, Teacher. In every way.” He turned to where he had left the glass eye and handed it back to the elder knight. “Let that be the reason that we win this war.”

Timaeus looked to his eye and back up to Critias. There was an emotion that the younger knight could not read, one that twisted his heart.

“Very well.”

With that, Timaeus grabbed his articles and left the tent, leaving Critias to wonder if he had made the right decision.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Plato's Allegory of the Chariot: http://webspace.ship.edu/cgboer/athenians.html


	2. Thoroughbred

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And I, Timaeus, accept the trust, and as you at first said that you were going to speak of high matters, and begged that some forbearance might be shown to you, I too ask the same or greater forbearance for what I am about to say.
> 
> \- Critias: "Critias" by Plato

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Critias: http://classics.mit.edu/Plato/critias.html

The next day's battle led to Critias staying with his fellow knight Hermos in the medical tent, watching as the healers spread balms on Critias' arm and gave him a sling to rest his arm for the night. The healer, the Holy Elf, nodded at him, acknowledging his presence. Critias nodded back and glanced over Hermos' wounds.

 _Contusion on right shoulder, severe cut on right hand, slight strain on left shoulder. He wasn't being careful. He held his shield too far away._ Critias backed up to allow the healers to continue to move around without being hindered by his presence.

"Critias, I'm fine-"

"Hermocrates, your shoulders are injured. Don't tell me that you are all right."

As his full name was used, the younger knight growled at Critias, his cheek paining him as he ground his teeth. Hermos turned from Critias, hissing as he moved while the Holy Elf attempted to stitch up his hand.

"You must not move, Hermocrates." The Holy Elf sighed, holding the needle in a nearby receptacle of scalding water. Critias watched the steam curling up from the mug, the water gaining a bit of a red hue as the blood came off of the needle.

"You mustn't fight tomorrow, Hermos." The Elf felt Hermos' hand stiffen in her grip. She gave him a compassionate smile. "It's only for tomorrow, young knight. We can speak to your teacher-"

"For tomorrow, Hermos shall take care of our fallen alongside you, Sainted Lady." Critias startled and turned to see Timaeus standing in the tent. When he arrived, Critias didn't know, as Timaeus had trained them in stealth himself, wary of the new teachers and wishing his favourite students to do exceptionally well in their service to the Royals and any patrons they decided to take on work for. Timaeus nodded at him and came forward, standing in front of the surprised Hermos.

"Teacher-"

"You did not listen to our procedures today." Timaeus leant down slightly, not giving any pity at the flinch that Hermos did as the needle pressed into his hand again. "You will stay behind to earn back your honour."

"Teacher!" Hermos clenched his free hand, doing his best to stay still as the Holy Elf hurried about her duties. Timaeus' now single-eyed gaze was unnerving to him, and he was already shaken by the earlier battler. "I'd earn my honour back better if I fight-"

"You _disobeyed my orders!_ " Timaeus' voice was stern, soft, but all others in the tent could hear his dragon's groaning beneath it. It was one of scolding and of disappointment. The words that held the groaning froze them. "You will stay with the Sainted Lady and  _heal and bring your honour back in a meaningful way!_ Not by being reckless." He set his hand on Hermos' head, who visibly relaxed. Critias stepped forward, paying mind to the Holy Elf's position as to not block her in any way.

"Teacher, if I may-"

"No, Critias.  _You may not._ "

With that, Timaeus turned away from the, facing Critias.

"You will come with me to the Stratagem."

* * *

The Stratagem was the location of battle plans and Timaeus' sleeping quarters. With only one hand available, Critias grit his teeth, Timaeus not making a noise or motion as Critias pulled bits of shrapnel from his side, setting them in a jar. Timaeus said that he had gotten this injury when pulling out Hermos from a brawl with one of those foreign creatures, the Orichalcos soldiers, the crudest of weapons being used towards the end of the battle and leaving pieces of metal in Timaeus' side. 

"It won't scar at all. It will just be annoying tomorrow." Critias doubted it. Timaeus was fond of Hermos and would keep him back, something Critias supported. The younger knight had not had much practice, had not even been in a battle before this. However, seeing his pride struck by the person that had taught them both so many things...

"Like Hermos' injury will annoy him tomorrow."

He received no response as he pulled out the last piece of shrapnel, laying it in the glass container. Critias stood to get some more dressing and coming back to the chair where his teacher sat, he watched his teacher perform the crude method of sanitation that their kind was known for. Saliva was pooled in the palm of Timaeus' hand and lathered onto his wound.

"It won't heal significantly better if it is not properly cleaned." Timaeus stayed silent, lathering his wound and pushing Critias' hand away when the younger came forward with a canteen of water instead. Critias sighed and set the water down, bringing his now free - and only usable hand - to his head, feeling exasperation settle in.

"Teacher-"

" _You got hurt_ _._ " The groaning had returned, but it was different than that in the medical tent towards Hermos. Timaeus' eye was focused on his eyes, pinning Critias into his place. "You got _hurt_ and you _dare tell me_ , the one who taught you so much, about _proper healing_."

"Timaeus."

Critias could not move. He could not move as the older knight came towards him, that single eye filled with such passion that Critias wondered if he was dreaming about the ravenous lips against his, as though they searched for water as he felt the tongue enter his mouth and map out every measurement of space there. There was anger behind the action, but he felt something else.

_"You make me the Wild Horse."_

It _was_ wild. Timaeus was about to cut his lips with the way that he tried to consume his student, but Critias found it endearing. Here, his caregiver and mentor, the one who raised him, was a man who knew nothing of the delicate and brutal nature of this intimate act, threatening to tear him open without knowledge of being able to put him back together. Their bodies hit the ground and Critias could feel his hidden wound, his pained arm, become painful and inflamed, any of the light medication that Holy Elf gave him before attending to Hermos wearing off.

"I thought you wanted _me_ to fuck _you_ ," Critias replied, watching Timaeus pant softly above him. The smaller knight shook his head.

"I don't... ' _fuck_ ,' as you say."

Critias shook his head.

"You don't, teacher? You're the one who's on me, like some whore from the streets."

He didn't expect the silence that followed. Critias met the deep blue eye of Timaeus, surprised to see...

_Is he giving in?_

"I smell your blood, Critias." Another kiss came upon him, on his cheek. Timaeus trailed his lips down clumsily to Critias' ear, letting his breath come over the pinna and his tongue grazing the ear lobe. His pulse began to beat wildly in his ear, Critias shocked as he heard the pulse moving rapidly. " _You want me now?_ "

The guttural words sent something alight in Critias' body and he felt himself rising to the occasion. Hips clumsily ground against his, and Critias almost roared in the response to the energy that set him on fire. His tail was curling by his side, giving into the sense of dominance that Timaeus was emitting. 

"Did you-" His words were choked for a moment as a sharp nip to his lower lip was given, a kiss avoided as Timaeus continued to explore his friend's body. "You planned this?"

"No." Timaeus lifted himself up, two fingers' measure between their noses. He pressed a small kiss to Critias' nose, and the younger knight was reminded of when he was this small, fey thing that could fit into the small, Spartan-styled bed that all soldiers were given - not to share, because of space - and Timaeus had squeezed both Critias and Hermos onto that small mattress. Timaeus would bump their noses and tell them sweet things, things not of war, but of Intellect and the children of Oceanus and Tethys. So many legends were learnt from the tongue of Timaeus, and his magical eyes, that let him take in all of these amazing things, were lit up with a fire that burned deep in his body that made him look more like the Holy Elf, or the Sainted Lady, as Timaeus called her.

"No, I did not plan this," Timaeus explained. "I would rather be under safer conditions, but-"

"We'll go back home, when this war is over." Critias raised a rarely gentle hand and caressed the soft cheek of his teacher, marveling at the almost-silent croons that escaped Timaeus as his claws traced the back of his ear. They were croons of a _hetairai_ , still with wings of down feathers and smelling of milk. "I will teach you everything I know, Timaeus. I will show you everything."

It'd be his wondrous feat, Critias realised, as he flipped the two of them over, taking in the pale skin that showed scars from battle, the fragile web of memories that lay embedded in the sweet flesh.

It'd be his wondrous feat, Critias realised, to have this amazing man beneath him, spreading open like the Lily.

"Why until then?" Timaeus looked up with his one eye, and for the first time, Critias understood what was meant by suffering temptation. The eye gazed at him with such a sadness and longing that he wished to offer himself wholly to his teacher and friend, to drown in the despair of that solitary eye. Was this love? Perhaps, but it did not answer the devotion that Timaeus had to others, unless it was the Goodness that Critias remembered hearing so much of.

"It will be our great reward, for defeating the evil kind, Timaeus. A reward to be forever treasured." Timaeus did not but nod and bare his neck. Critias bent down and smiled as he inhaled the sweet scent of olives and blood. "You're changing me, Timaeus. I'm not the _hētairēkós_ that existed before." 

Timaeus growled softly, trying to curl closer to his student. "I've never thought of you in such a manner... You would make a good _sýzygos_ for a matrimony. You could find a good  _gynaíka_ , when we get back."

"Will you?" Critias sat up slowly, Timaeus sliding downward onto his lap. "Will you get married?"

Timaeus stayed silent and looked up to his student. "I don't think anyone would want me now. No one did before." He raised a hand to his scar, his eye that could no longer look at Critias or Hermos or at his vast library of books.

Critias placed a hand on Timaeus' back and rubbed small circles downward to the small of his back. At the base of his tail, Timaeus had a band of smooth scales. Intrigued, Critias placed a finger on the smoothness and was shocked, as he stroked the scales. His teacher in front of him trembled in his embrace. As Critias continued, pressing more firmly, a gasp escaped the older dragon, Timaeus clenching his hand and accidentally making a shallow cut in his cheek with his claws. He grew concerned for a moment, until he saw the single eye of Timaeus; it held a faraway gaze and its pupil was wide. Critias rolled his hips forward and felt Timaeus' erection through their clothes, a fire burning in his lower belly at the prospect.

This knight, a master amongst them, was falling apart at the thought of pleasure. Should Critias take him here? Should he turn him around and mount him, pushing into the heat that fuelled his teacher's fire? Would he keep them facing each other and just thrust shallowly into the socket that had been empty since the first day of battle?

"I would have you, Timaeus of the Flowers." Critias leant forward and pressed his lips to his teacher's, moaning as the teeth of the elder one nipped at his lips, especially at the corners, in a show of submission. Pulling away and coming forward again to push Timaeus' arm, Critias bent down his head and licked at the again-bleeding wound, speaking in irregular intervals. "I would take you- Seize you- I will make you forget everything- Save for me inside of you."

" _Critias_ ," was the only word hissed at him with a guttural groan accompanying it. The sexual high lessened, as the pain of the shrapnel wound and the scent of blood filled the tension from sexual attraction. Critias cursed silently, the taste of red humour coating his tongue. He could _sense_ the other knight's frustration, but he would keep to his promise.

When the wound was clean again - it had been bleeding again from the fast pulsing of Timaeus' heart, running through the veins at a thoroughbred's speed - there was no more urge for mating in the air and Timaeus sighed, sitting obediently on Critias' lap as bandages were applied and wrapped around his torso.

"You know how to ruin a mood."

"I'm keeping my promise, teacher." It was the only reason Critias gave for his actions. It did not stop Timaeus from giving his student another kiss to his cheek.

It did not stop them from sleeping through the night together.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote this as a one-shot. Then I thought this was going to be three chapters. I was wrong.
> 
> Greek Translations:
> 
> hetairai - a female courtesan  
> hētairēkós - a male courtesan  
> sýzygos - a husband  
> gynaíka - a wife


	3. Artificer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> First invoke Apollo and the Muses, and then let us hear you sound the praises and show forth the virtues of your ancient citizens.
> 
> \- Hermocrates: "Critias" by Plato

They were rutting against each other, Timaeus and Critias. Their cocks were hard, out of their sheaths, and were developing the sweetest heat that the elder knight could not have ever anticipated. Amazing, it was, that he had never thought to touch another, any other than his student. It was wonderful, he learnt, to have fangs dragging themselves over his flesh. Their tails were curling, searching, seizing, aiding in their eager search for more flesh to grasp.

Timaeus wondered for a moment if he had died and this was his payment across the River Styx. Was Charon going to damn him for thinking that, that two dragons could pay their way across the River just by displaying an act of fornication.

"Feels like..."

"Yes?" Critias asked, his breathing ragged. His now healed arm was bracing itself with the headboard of the Strategem's bed, his other arm down between them, that corresponding hand wrapped around them both, squeezing them together at different intervals, searching for what made them both let loose.

* * *

The afternoon of the day in which he was to help the Holy Elf, Hermos looked for his friend and his teacher both, and he was elated when he found Timaeus and Critias under one of the olive trees around their camp. It was the farthest tree, its branches and hanging vines full with greenery. He walked slowly towards them, watching their interactions that were hardly hidden by the green.

They were closer together than Timaeus would normally allow. Hermos watched as Critias was allowed to place kisses on their teacher's brow, upon his cheek, and to press their teacher, usually so stoic and caring only in private settings, onto the ground where Timaeus exposed his neck. Hermos stared at the pale expanse of flesh that was lavished over with a familiar tongue, one that Hermos himself had tasted.

His blood seemed to grow hotter. This was the teacher who had trained them, taught them arithmetic and science. He made them starve for their food in the hills - well-earned in a hunt - and gave them praise when they fought and began to cooperate more effectively. When the others would scold Timaeus for his lenience, for the harsh physical lessons were often far between, he would defend the two.

"I can train them with kindness and with harshness both. Passivity and aggression go hand in hand," Timaeus had said. The three went to bed, the instructors promising to keep an eye on them and hoping not to be disappointed. It was a memory that Hermos kept close.

In the present day, Hermos could see that gentle, firm love still. The older knights looked up as Hermos approached, not moving away from each other. They held each other close and the scent of a Claim was open in the air.

"Hermocrates." Critias adjusted himself to sit up, pulling Timaeus up with him. Timaeus stayed silent, cheeks having a well-developed blush. Hermos wondered, for a moment, wondered why. This took a space in the back of his mind, as he processed what he was seeing.

"What are you two doing?" This love was not a love he expected to see. Critias' tongue on someone else's flesh, he did not expect to see. And this was definitely a love of passion, not just of intellect and fortitude that his lover and teacher found in each other since they had begun their academic relationship. It was also not something that he thought that he would be curious about. Being the youngest, he'd been the most open, eager to fulfill the desires that he had for Critias. "Well?" he asked, when only silence met him.

"My apologies, Hermocrates." Timaeus stood up slowly. "I shall leave you two to speak."

"No!" Hermos cringed at the sound of his voice, desperate and strained. "Um..."

"I need some time to myself for a moment," Timaeus said, waving a hand to Critias when the other tried to stand. "Forgive me, both of you, but I need to handle something in my own time."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apollo: Apollo was the god of music and archery, among other things. His Muses (varying from one to nine) governed the arts. Led by Apollo, the choir of Muses sung about the deeds of valiant heroes.


End file.
